


Take Me Home (Show Me Your Plant Life)

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, M/M, Marathon Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale touches a plant he isn't supposed to. Then he touches quite a lot of things of Crowley's he was supposed to leave very well alone. Fortunately, no one's going to tell them to stop.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 400
Collections: The Sticky Stigma





	Take Me Home (Show Me Your Plant Life)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the GO Events Discord's sex and cuddle pollen challenge, Sticky Stigma! Special thanks to [Liquid_Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium) for the stellar beta insights, and thanks to [lazulibundtcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulibundtcake) who got this organized after we said "you know what would be fun?"

It feels inevitable that, as soon as they reach Crowley's bedroom, they descend on each other.

Aziraphale is hungry for Crowley, starving, voracious; he shoves him down to the bed and kisses him with a ferocity and an urgency he's never felt before. Crowley gives back as good as he gets, nipping and biting Aziraphale's lips, his jaw, the column of his throat. Aziraphale's hard, desperately so, has been nearly since he touched the cursed plant, and he ruts up against Crowley's thigh, trying to get some relief.

"Aziraphale, _wait_ ," Crowley pants out. He rips himself away from Aziraphale and shoves him back, just enough to put a little distance between them. Even so, Aziraphale can feel how hard Crowley is, how much Crowley's thighs are trembling with the effort of not grinding up and seeking his relief.

"What is it?" Aziraphale asks. One of his hands is in Crowley's hair, the other halfway underneath his shirt, desperate for bare skin. He pulls them away and immediately feels itchy from lack of contact, but he struggles to keep it in check. "If you'd rather we ride this out separately—"

"No!" Crowley's voice comes out choked and panicky. "No, don't. I can do this. I want to."

*

_"If we do this, we can't come back," Crowley said. His breathing had gone shallow; his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "Not the way we are now. Sure you're willing to risk that?"_

_A union was inevitable between them; they both knew this. Everything in Aziraphale was screaming out to touch Crowley, to taste him, and Crowley was, for once, being the cautious one, even though Aziraphale could see that he was similarly affected. It was infuriating._

_"Perhaps we'll come back better," Aziraphale suggested. He took another step forward and slid his hand through Crowley's hair, which was just as soft as it looked. He touched Crowley's mouth, then, and Crowley's eyes went even wider. His lips parted under Aziraphale's fingertips. "My dear, may I?"_

_Crowley hesitated for only a second, then surged forward and slams his mouth against Aziraphale's. Aziraphale kissed back with enthusiasm, sweeping the tip of his tongue over the seam of Crowley's lips. Crowley opened for him instantly, and then Aziraphale had his tongue in Crowley's_ mouth _, and they were French kissing in the middle of Crowley's plant room, hands everywhere, pressing as close together as they could manage while standing._

_"Not in here," Crowley said when he pulled back. He stared at Aziraphale with wide, shocked eyes, then shot a look at the plants, who shivered obediently. "Bedroom."_

*

Aziraphale is affected by the plant, yes, but there's a latent attraction to Crowley buried in him, hidden even from himself, that's suddenly dragged to the surface. It makes him want _Crowley_ to be buried in him, as soon as possible, and then he wants to do it the other way around, and then, well, they have so many options available to them, don't they?

Crowley looks frustrated, though, and not just in the carnal sense. "Please stay. I want you here. Just—"

"Just what?" Aziraphale can't help it—even as he asks the question, he goes back to sucking kisses into Crowley's neck and divesting Crowley of his waistcoat. The pollen is taking proper hold of him—he's not sure he could stop it if he tried, at this point.

He's not sure he _wants_ to try.

"I wanted—" Crowley is tense all over, but his body is responding to Aziraphale's touch. His body needs this, if he's even half as bad off as Aziraphale, and Aziraphale is determined to give it to him. "I wanted—oh, fuck, that's good—to take it slow. With you. If we ever got here."

Crowley says the words like he's being dragged over glass to admit them. Simultaneously, he cants his hips up, grinding their clothed cocks together, and there goes any hope Aziraphale had of getting the rest of their clothes off, at least for their first round. He rocks down against Crowley and attempts to match his rhythm without pulling his lips away from Crowley's skin.

"I wanted—fuck, _fuck_ , angel, keep doing that, I—"

They find release in each other's arms, fast and messy and more or less together. The lust between them is no less abated, and they stare at each other after.

"Okay," Crowley growls. "Again."

*

_Crowley inspected the plant and groaned, which Aziraphale thought was rather theatrical, and never mind the way that sound made his skin prickle and heat up._

_"Right, so, this is a type of flowering plant," Crowley said through clenched teeth. "Very rare, very dangerous. And if you_ touch it, Aziraphale _—" Crowley breathed in sharply through his nose. "It releases an extremely potent aphrodisiac."_

_"Good lord," Aziraphale said. "I had no idea. How did you even come across such a thing?" That explained it, then—once Crowley pointed it out, he was able to pick out the pinpricks of magic in the air. That's what he felt drawing him closer to Crowley, not any realization of latent desires. It was oddly disappointing._

_"I know you didn't," Crowley said, half under his breath. To Aziraphale, he said, "Yeah, so, never mind how I got it. You have to leave,_ right now _, or we're going to do something we'll regret."_

_Aziraphale's fingers twitched without his permission, and he took a half step towards Crowley, who took a step back and nearly knocked over a fern. His sunglasses were long since discarded, so Aziraphale could see the way his eyes went wide with panic-tinged lust. "What if we don't regret it?"_

_"That's the plant talking," Crowley argued, but Aziraphale could tell he was starting to waver. He'd known Crowley too long to not—well, notice the way Crowley had been looking at him, for ages. For most of their history, in fact._

*

The second time they come together, Aziraphale finds himself pushed back down on the bed, with the kind of tenderness and reverence Crowley reserves for—actually, he doesn't think he's ever seen Crowley be this gentle. His eyes are blown yellow and unfocused with lust, and he takes a second, just looking at Aziraphale, before leaning down to brush their lips together.

This kiss is no less passionate than before, but much less frenetic, and all the sweeter for it. Crowley takes his time, getting to know Aziraphale's mouth and body. Before Aziraphale knows it, they're both halfway to being undressed, a fact he only notices because Crowley is squirming around on top of him, trying to get out of his tight trousers without breaking away from Aziraphale.

"Let me," Aziraphale says in Crowley's ear. He did want to do this by hand, but… well, next time, he thinks. Instead, he does away with Crowley's clothing altogether with a gesture. It folds itself on top of a chair that's also been suddenly relocated from Crowley's office, and after a moment of consideration, he sends his own clothes to join them.

"Last chance to back out," Crowley says. Aziraphale fixes him with a stare that he hopes conveys that he's not going anywhere, and Crowley grins and kisses a line down his chest.

It's almost romantic, but that's not what they need right now, although Aziraphale very much hopes there will be time for it later. The magic is taking hold of him all over again, urging him on, and he grinds up against Crowley, making Crowley let out a groan. "I want you inside me," Aziraphale pants against Crowley's shoulder. "I want you to _fuck_ me. Please, now, I need it, I need to feel you."

Crowley shuts his eyes, as if he can't handle both the need coursing through his system and Aziraphale asking for what he wants. "Yeah," Crowley says when he's gotten hold of himself and opened his eyes. "Yeah, I want to. Do you have—"

"No time," Aziraphale says, and with a thought he's stretched and ready for Crowley, moaning at the suddenness of it. He urges Crowley down with gentle but insistent nudges, and Crowley is pushing in just as gently, and then Crowley is _inside him_ , Crowley's cock is filling him up just the way he wants. Aziraphale nearly comes untouched, just from that, it feels that good. He feels dizzy with it, dizzy with the smell of Crowley and the feel of him and the aphrodisiac like an ever-present drum beat in the background, and then Crowley sucks in a breath and starts to _move_.

It's earth-shattering, world-changing, mind-blowing, and yet at the same time, it's so simple, so _human_. They move together in tandem; Aziraphale gives himself up to it, to Crowley taking him, _fucking_ him, in Crowley's own bed. Crowley gets a hand between them, and Aziraphale comes again, with just the brush of Crowley's fingers on his cock pushing him over the edge like a revelation. Crowley lets out a broken-off sound and comes immediately after, spilling inside of Aziraphale, which nearly pushes Aziraphale over for a third time.

"Wow," Crowley says. He pulls out but doesn't move away, hovering awkwardly instead, so Aziraphale takes the initiative and pulls Crowley down to lie on top of him. Aziraphale doesn't think he can bear not touching Crowley right now; their copulation took the edge off but made things worse at the same time, much worse than a little frottage had. He's nowhere near satisfied, and from the purposeful way Crowley's running his hands up and down Aziraphale's body, he thinks Crowley's in the same predicament.

"Would you like—that is, I would very much like to go again. That was...." Aziraphale doesn't have the words for what it was. Transcendent is a good one.

"Yeah," Crowley says, and a smile blooms across his face. "It was. Knew it would be, since it's you."

When he says that, Aziraphale is struck by the look on Crowley's face. Six thousand years, and he's never seen Crowley with such a look of joyful disbelief, like he's suddenly gotten everything he wants. Aziraphale kisses that look, because how can he not?

" _Crowley_ ," he breathes out as he pulls back, but before he can say anything else, Crowley is carefully shuttering his expression and reaching for Aziraphale.

"C'mon," Crowley says, "fuck me, angel. I want you to, and I know you aren't done, not by a long shot."

It's true—they're both hard again, their bodies straining toward each other even as they're wrapped up in each other's arms. The pollen's magic thrums through Aziraphale's body, but even so, he wants Crowley to know—he just wants Crowley to know, to feel it, without having to speak anything aloud.

"Will you make yourself ready for me, darling?" he asks, reaching down to stroke the pert curve of Crowley's bottom. He's never called Crowley that before, but it seems fitting, now that they're in bed together. Even if it's just for now. Even if this never happens again.

Crowley nods, and shudders with the effects of the miracle, and Aziraphale flips them over with a move that must do it for Crowley, because by the time he's on top, Crowley is already quaking in his arms and coming all over himself.

"Oh, that's embarrassing," Crowley groans. He tries to throw his arm over his eyes, but Aziraphale grabs hold of both his wrists and pins them above his head. Crowley whimpers.

"On the contrary, I found it rather flattering," Aziraphale says. "I'll have to remember that." He presses his lips to Crowley's, keeping his wrists pinned, and smiles into it when he feels Crowley's cock rising back to hardness.

Aziraphale's been following his instincts this whole time—he's not sure if Crowley's ever done this before (and, oh, perhaps that was something he should have asked?), but he hasn't, not with anyone, unless solo exploratory sessions in the privacy of his bedroom count.

He's glad it's Crowley. All the reading he's done and all the conversations he's been part of on the subject have suggested that there should be a romance to one's first time. There's no one else Aziraphale would ever consider joining with like this, no one else he would hold and kiss and touch and hope that if it means something when this is all over, that it means something good and right for both of them.

"Will you keep your hands there?" he asks Crowley, suddenly feeling shy about it. "Only—I'll need both hands, and you look—you look—"

He looks like Aziraphale's, like he belongs with him, but Aziraphale can't bring himself to say that. Crowley seems to get it anyway. "Anything," Crowley says, and Aziraphale pulls his hand away.

Carefully, he lines up his cock with Crowley's hole and slides in, groaning in relief when he feels Crowley around him. Crowley is so _hot_ inside, in contrast to the slightly cool temperature of his skin, as if all his body heat is concentrated in this one spot, just for Aziraphale. He narrows his eyes at the thought, wondering if the silly fiend wouldn't do exactly that, but dismisses it just as readily when he bottoms out and Crowley lets out a wail.

"Azira—Aziraphale," Crowley pants. "Please, please fuck me. You feel so good, please, I need it."

Aziraphale is driven on as much by Crowley's words and the feel of him as he is by the pollen, and he pulls out of Crowley partway before pushing back in, letting his body's instincts set the rhythm. Crowley curses and cries out, says _angel_ and Aziraphale's name like desperate prayers, and all told, it doesn't take long at all before they're both climaxing, Crowley spilling untouched into the space between them as Aziraphale finds his release inside of him.

When Aziraphale pulls out, Crowley gives him a dopey, lopsided grin and lowers his arms so he can pull Aziraphale back into them. Aziraphale stops, however, when he sees the mess Crowley's made of himself. Before he can think about it too hard, he swipes a finger through Crowley's release and sucks it off his finger. It tastes a lot like Crowley himself—dark, earthy, and full of potential. He meets Crowley's eyes and feels the plant's effects reigniting in him.

"Again?" Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods and moves down the bed. "I find myself suddenly quite desperate to get my mouth on you," he says, and he proceeds to do exactly that, Crowley's high keening reverberating in his ears.

*

_They were in the plant room after all when Aziraphale sneezed._

_"Gesundheit," Crowley said from across the room, where he was making a show of misting the plants, all because Aziraphale said he wanted to watch. He was also glaring at them when he thought Aziraphale wasn't looking, but Aziraphale didn't pay that any mind._

_Then Crowley froze and flicked out his tongue for the briefest moment, just long enough for Aziraphale to regret its absence when it retreated. Very slowly, he turned to face Aziraphale. "Angel, you_ didn't _."_

_Aziraphale had, in fact, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. "I'm sure I don't know—"_

_"I thought I said_ no touching _!" Then Crowley, suddenly at his side, bustled him away from the plant he was admiring, and oh, goodness. Had Crowley always smelled this good, or was it the glass of wine making him feel this heady and drunk? Had his hands always felt this strong?_

_In Aziraphale's defense, the plant had rather pretty leaves, and was so soft-looking and enticing that he just had to reach out and stroke it. Who could blame him, really?_

*

They could have been at it for hours. It could have been days, weeks, months—at this point, Aziraphale has no idea. His world has narrowed to the wreck of Crowley's bed and Crowley himself, spread out like a feast beside him while Aziraphale nibbles on his ear.

The lust is subsiding now, the pollen's aphrodisiac releasing its hold on them. Aziraphale isn't ready to let go of Crowley, though, not now that they have intimate knowledge of every part of each other's bodies. Not now that he's made Crowley fall apart in his arms more times than he can count.

(It was forty-seven, at least, but the last three of Crowley's and the last four of his were strung together in an endless blur of pleasure, just grasping at bare skin and sensitive places, tipping each other over the edge again and again.)

"'M gonna need a minute," Crowley mumbles. He casts his gaze down between his legs, so Aziraphale looks, too. "Yeah. Jus' a minute."

"I think it might actually be wearing off," Aziraphale says, taking stock of the two of them. They're sweaty and sticky, and Aziraphale is dreadfully sore in new ways, including the sharp sting of the love bites Crowley laid on him, pinning him to the mattress before settling in to prove his devotion to Aziraphale's thighs.

"Mmmm." Crowley lolls his head onto Aziraphale's shoulder. "I'm gonna sleep for a year. Maybe two. You wore me out, angel."

Aziraphale wonders if that's his cue to clean himself up and leave Crowley to his rest, but when he looks over at Crowley, the affection is plain on his face. "Might even have a kip myself," Aziraphale says carefully. 

"Good. You should." Crowley's eyes are half-slitted with exhaustion, but he opens them again to look at Aziraphale. "Hang on, did you think I would kick you out? C'mon. It's me. It's us. I'm good if you are. More than good. Perfect, really, while I'm being all… y'know."

"Perfect?" Aziraphale prompts. An aftershock of pleasure flares in him at the flattery. Now that he's sure of his continued welcome, he sighs and stretches languorously, then settles in at Crowley's side, draping his arm across Crowley's middle.

Crowley nudges him with his foot. "And I meant that, but don't let it go to your head. You're insufferable enough as it is."

Aziraphale smiles. "You were fairly perfect, too," he says. "But don't let it go to your head."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley says, burying his nose in Aziraphale's hair as his breathing evens out.

They sleep for thirteen hours, and when Aziraphale wakes up, Crowley's still there. Which makes sense, he supposes, as it's Crowley's bed.

"Morning," Crowley says. His hair is still a disaster, and he looks uncharacteristically shy about something. "Can I kiss you, or is that not—did you just want—"

It takes Aziraphale a moment to parse his meaning. "Are you trying to ask if we were… what do they call it? A one night stand?"

Crowley makes a face. "Well. No." He glances away, then back at Aziraphale, blushing faintly. "But yeah. Kind of."

"We were good together, I thought," Aziraphale says carefully, watching Crowley's face. He only wants this if Crowley does, too.

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Good," Crowley says with frantic nods. "I'm just gonna—" He leans in and pecks Aziraphale on the lips like Aziraphale's become something breakable, like they didn't just spend what felt like an extremely pleasurable eternity having very athletic sex with each other.

"My dear," Aziraphale admonishes him, before pulling Crowley into a deeper kiss. By the time they separate, they're both panting and flushed with arousal.

Crowley lifts an eyebrow. "One more for the road?"

In answer, Aziraphale climbs on top of him and kisses him again.

It goes slower this time, more deliberate, now that they're not under the influence of the pollen. Crowley switched to a vulva somewhere in their throes of passion, but Aziraphale still takes his time opening him up, using his mouth and fingers as tenderly as he can, in case Crowley's sore. Crowley does hiss a little, but he's clearly eager for it and presses back against Aziraphale, demanding more without asking.

By the time Crowley's ready, he's so wet that Aziraphale barely feels the pain of his own abused cock as he slides in, just slickness and heat that feels better than it has any right to. He keeps his thrusts minimal, so they rock together, barely separating, not quite kissing but letting their lips catch and drag as they please.

It's a lot like making love, or like all the depictions of such that Aziraphale's read—just closeness, and connection, and taking joy and pleasure in each other's bodies. Aziraphale's not even sure he or Crowley are going to come from this, but no sooner has he had the thought than Crowley sucks on his pulse point and tilts his hips to get more friction on his clit, and Aziraphale lets out a soft whine of need and increases his movements, working his hand between them at the same time.

Crowley comes first, with Aziraphale rubbing his clit, and Aziraphale follows, pressing as close as he can before collapsing on top of Crowley.

He lies there for a moment, head on Crowley's chest, before pulling out and rolling to the side. Crowley's eyes are bright and crinkled with happiness when Aziraphale looks up into them.

"Good?" Crowley asks. Aziraphale nods, and Crowley presses his lips to Aziraphale's temple, then settles in again at his side.

"We should get out of bed," Aziraphale says reluctantly.

"Mmmm, nope," Crowley says. He winds his limbs around Aziraphale, pinning him down. Aziraphale can't say he's sorry to be caught. Crowley seems to be reveling in this new dimension to their relationship, and Aziraphale finds he feels rather the same.

Crowley lazily snaps his fingers, and the mess of their coupling vanishes; another gesture, and the bed is refreshed and made around them, the bedclothes pulled up to their shoulders. "Stay," Crowley says. He curls his fingers around Aziraphale's hip. "Feels good to have you here."

"I suppose a little while longer won't hurt," Aziraphale says, pressing his face into Crowley's neck and closing his eyes.

*

_"I'd quite like to see that," Aziraphale said, some time earlier in the evening. In retrospect, that was the moment that precipitated everything that came after._

_Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, nah, you wouldn't. You—you wouldn't like it, angel." He took a long sip of his wine and averted his eyes. "You wouldn't like me."_

_The last was said in such a low tone that even Aziraphale's angelic hearing was hard pressed to manage, but he got the gist, as it were. Crowley was ashamed of something; that simply wouldn't do, and Aziraphale decided then, in his half-drunken state, that he was utterly determined to prove that to Crowley._

_"Nonsense," Aziraphale said. "I like nearly everything about you. But—perhaps you could show me around the rest of your flat, then." They were in the bookshop, not even in Mayfair, but Aziraphale had always prided himself on his ability to finagle social invitations. "I never really got a proper tour the night after—_ after _, you know. There was quite a lot happening."_

_Crowley's eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward, just a little. "I suppose, if you really want to," he said, "there's lots of things I could show you. Just don't touch the plants."_

*

When they wake the second time, still wrapped up together, it's the middle of the afternoon. They dress and go to breakfast anyway, at a little cafe that does that sort of thing all day. Crowley tangles his feet with Aziraphale's under the table, and stares at him with open affection, and lets Aziraphale feed him bites off his own fork, and Aziraphale doesn't mind any of it, not a bit.

"So," Crowley says when they're getting back in the car, "do you think you'd ever. You know. Want to do that again?"

Aziraphale blinks. "Have… post-coital breakfast with you?" he ventures.

"No!" Crowley's quite fetchingly pink now, and he rests his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment before composing himself. "I mean, yeah, we can do that. But I meant, uh. The thing with the plant."

"Oh," Aziraphale says. Although he's hoping that he and Crowley will continue their new intimate explorations, he hasn't even considered that they might repeat the experience in its entirety and now feels himself flushing. "Would you mind?"

"I'm the one asking, aren't I?" Crowley grouses. He tempers it with a look so full of fondness that Aziraphale can't help but reach out and run fingers through his beautiful hair, just for the sheer joy of touching.

Crowley blushes even more ferociously at that, so much so that Aziraphale makes a mental note of it for the future. "Yes," Aziraphale decides. "I thoroughly enjoyed myself, as I hope you already know. And…"

He hesitates before saying the next part, but the hope in Crowley's eyes makes him throw caution away. He slides his hand down to cup Crowley's jaw, then releases him. "I'd like to… continue our new development. Without being under the influence. If you want to, that is."

"Y-yeah," Crowley says, and then it seems to be his turn to reach out and touch, with a hand covering Aziraphale's. Aziraphale turns his hand over and intertwines their fingers. "I want to. A lot. Always have, you know that."

In response to that, Aziraphale can only lean in, and so Crowley leans in, and then they're kissing in Crowley's parked car outside the cafe. Someone, who very likely wants their parking space, honks nearby. Neither of them care. Crowley does reflexively raise his hand to curse them, but Aziraphale yanks it back down.

" _Stop_ ," he says, smiling against Crowley's mouth. "Dear, would you mind terribly if we went back to the bookshop instead of your flat? I could do with a change of scenery."

Crowley withdraws immediately and puts the car in drive, speeding away from the curb. "Yeah. 'Course. Anything you want."

Aziraphale—quite bravely, he thinks, given Crowley's driving—puts his hand on Crowley's knee. "I _meant_ come home with me," he says. "In case that wasn't clear."

Crowley nearly hits two parked cars and a pedestrian. Aziraphale kisses his cheek when he manages not to, and he lets Crowley speed all the way back home.


End file.
